The Absense of Reason is colored with Red
by Dreya -lady drea
Summary: I wasnt very nice in this one either. Sam angst. S/F SLASH WARNING (what else would i write) self-mutilation warning. if you're squeamish, dont read this one. but if you do, please leave a note! ^_^
1. The Absense of reason is colored with re...

Title: The Absence of reason is colored with Red.  
Written:02/28/01  
Rating: R for violence   
Pairing: F/S  
Category: Angst  
  
WARNINGS! My mood right now: horrible. My last story was written to purge giggles, this story was written as a substitute to doing something worse. If you don't wanna read it, thats cool. If you do, feedback of any kind would be great and might even cheer me up....  
  
SUMMERY!! Excuse my blasphemy but, I hate The Havens with a G** D*** Passion!!!!  
  
  
  
  
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**12:45 AM**  
  
Sam was standing in the large, spacious kitchen of BagEnd, his home now. In front of him was the knife drawer. Rosie was fast asleep at this dark hour.  
  
He pushed up the long green sleeve on his left arm and studied the white scars and healing cuts and scrapes. The skin was still warn from a mark he had made with his fingernails not long before today. His left arm had a history of being a victim, and usually he kept good control of such urges....  
Until now.  
He still remembered how Frodos lips felt against his forehead as he kissed him goodbye, how Frodo's dry eyes gave Sam no hint of remorse or regret, then turned away from him forever.  
  
  
  
It *was* the end of all things now, and came not mercifully and quickly, but as an agonizingly slow  
reemergence of some animalistic desire that had torn loose of its restraints. The one last tie, Frodos love for him, had been broken. Frodo had left him alone. And now Sam Gamgee was no longer here.  
  
He slid open the knife drawer and rummaged around till he found something satisfactory. If was like choosing the right outfit for a special event.  
  
The blade he held to his arm now was thin and narrow like a dagger, but edged with teeth. The handle was black. Perfect.  
  
The first cut was painless, and it frustrated him. So he moved an inch down and pushed harder. The teeth caught on his skin and tore a thin, shallow line, and it hurt. Sam closed his eyes and grimaced in pain, but he kept going, scraping a few lines here and there, tearing till it bled sufficiently. It had to hurt, he *had* to make it *hurt*! He fell to his knees and sobbed quietly as his hand continued to work, unable to stop. He rode out the rage and confusion and pain for a long while, reason and attachment to his body only coming back in small, slow fragments. At one point between reason and madness he had regained the will to stop, but no longer wanted to. *He* controlled his hand again and made it keep going. Vague thoughts of Frodo came and went, of what had been but mostly of what could have been. Memories of affectionate touches and pats on the back, of that look in Frodo's eyes when he was pleased with Sam, but mostly useless wishes and empty hopes. Thoughts came and went for what seemed like an eternity, while Sam bled out his pain onto the kitchen floor.  
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**12:50**  
  
When he stopped, his back was against the sink and his legs sprawled out in front of him. As the fog passed and his senses sharpened, the pain in his abused arm was honed to an intense and steady throb, much more acute then before. Shame and perverted relief swirled around him as he saw the blood leak out and spread. He looked at the clock; it had only been 5 minutes.  
  
He went about the ritual of cleaning up, washing all traces of blood and skin from the knife with trembling hands, and loosely bandaging his arm. When everything had become as clean as it could be and all evidence was obliterated and sank into the nearest chair and let out a helpless sob.   
"I did it again..." he moaned, "I let you down again, Frodo my dear." Tears fell unheeded from his already red eyes, and he made a loud sound that was almost like sobbing, but much more primal. It was full of despairing and the knowledge of being totally lost and cut off from the rest of the pack, the knowledge that he was alone in the lair of some predator, and would soon die.  
  
Sam rocked back and forth, holding his arm to his chest. It was summer and very hot, but he would wear long sleeves tomorrow so Rosie wouldn't notice. 


	2. For I can no longer call you lover

ok, I finished the compainion piece to "The Absence of reason" from Frodo's   
point of view, but im warning y'all, its a big tear jerker, (I hope)   
***  
Title: For I can no longer call you lover.  
Author: Missy not morbid today even though the story is  
Pairing: F/S  
Archive: yes please  
Feedback: YES PLEASE! feedback yummy yummy!  
can you bend spoons: what spoon? there is no spoon!  
  
Warnings: ANGST(like I'd write much else), and not a happy ending. (I know   
half of you just ran away now, but oh well.)  
  
SUMMERY: Companion piece to "The absence of reason", but from Frodo's POV.   
You don't have to read that story to read this one, it will make sense on its   
own just fine.  
  
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Frodo trembled, reaching out and touching Sam's lips. A thumb, seemingly of   
it's own accord, rubbed the lower lip gently. Sam gasped as tears ran down   
his face; his lips had always been extraordinarily sensitive. At any other   
moment this would bring pleasure to him.   
  
The secret Sam had kept from Frodo was too much though, and he told Sam that   
he would be going to the Havens by himself, that he was too wounded to be   
around him any longer. The brown eyes begged Frodo for an alternative answer;   
an answer that Frodo could not give.   
  
"Master..." he sobbed, "Frodo, please don't do this. Don't do this to us! I   
promise, it will never happen again--"  
  
Frodo ached to pull Sam into his arms as his friends shoulders shook. But he   
restrained himself sternly, moving his hand from Sam's lips to slap him   
across the face.   
"Do not accuse me for this." He said calmly, "I certainly didn't...Sam, but   
how could you? With Rosie?"  
  
Sam's cries increased in volume and he looked as though he were about to fall   
to his knees.  
"I understand you had feelings for her, but that didn't mean you had to act   
on them! Did you not tell me the "wedding" was just a sham to please her   
father? He wanted her wed by the time she was of age, and you agreed to step   
in and help. But, damnit man it wasn't intent on being real! Did you once   
think of *me* when you kissed her? Of *me* when you said out loud that you   
loved her? Of *us* when you climbed into her bed??" Although he started out   
softly, his anger built as he recalled his Sam's deception, until the words   
struck at him like daggers.  
  
"Please Frodo, don't leave me! I'm sorry my dear, oh my dear, dear Frodo   
please forgive me, I'm so sorry! I...I...I wasn't thinking..."  
  
At that the emotional young man broke and collapsed to the ground, shaking as   
if the world were going to end. Frodo's heart finally softened, and he knelt   
by Sam and took the tear-streaked face in his hands, raising the tender brown   
eyes to meet his.   
  
"It hurts," he stated bluntly, "You know I love you Sam..." Frodo stroked   
down Sam's cheek, the other man nuzzling into the touch. His sobs had calmed   
now to little hiccups.  
  
"I know, I'm ever so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you. Ever." Sam took   
Frodo's fingers and kissed them.  
  
"Yes," Frodo said gently, allowing his fingers to be held, "But I am hurt in   
a way I can not mend from, I am afraid."  
  
He allowed himself one last, lingering caress on the face of the one he   
loved, then pulled away. Sam's sharp cry cut though his heart, but it hurt   
no more than the damage that was already made, that threatened to overwhelm   
him.  
  
"I've made my decision," he said firmly, "I'm passing over to the Havens.   
Alone."  
  
**********  
  
The day had come, and Frodo stood on the shore with his three dearest   
friends. Behind them towered the enormous gray ship that was to carry him   
away to the Havens, the resting place of Heroes and elves and kings.  
  
The good-byes were short and slightly teary with Merry and Pippin; although   
they were obviously distressed by his departure, they at least had each other   
to hold to.   
  
As he came to stand in front of Sam, Frodo had to force himself to stand   
still and not fall into those strong arms and tell him he was forgiven. For,   
in his heart, Frodo *had* forgiven Sam, but his dignity, his *pride* would   
not allow any mercy to show through. What was done, was done, he reasoned,   
and there was no changing it. Anyway, he no longer felt safe and comfortable   
in Sam's arms as he used to. Sam was like a stranger to him.  
  
There was not a word said between them, just the intense lock of two pairs of   
brown eyes, one dark and chocolate colored and the other soft and light and   
filled with tears. Sam's lips trembled and Frodo had the urge to soothe them   
with is own.  
  
'No!' his dignity spoke up, 'Remember what he did to you. He deserves this!'  
  
Deciding to listen to the harsh, abused part of himself that seemed to speak   
it's mind too frequently lately, he kept his lips away from Sam's mouth, and   
restricted himself to the sorrow lined forehead.  
  
'Goodbye.' His heart whispered.  
  
As soon as he turned his back to Sam, he allowed the salty betrayers of his   
pride to fall to the sand.  
  
He boarded the elven ship regretful, and achingly hollow inside for some   
reason. 


	3. Spring after Winter

Title: Spring after Winter (and other such miracles)  
Sequel to: The Absence of Reason and For I can no longer call you lover  
Author: Missy Samwise   
Archived? I'm trying to archive it myself, but I'm having a few troubles...  
Rating: R  
Pairing: F/S  
Category: angst, h/c, happy ending  
Summery: The last part in my first Frodo/Sam series, in which relief is found and reunions are wept over.  
Feedback: PLEASE!!!  
  
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Frodo tossed restlessly in his soft feather bed that felt to him like a block of cement. The silky bed sheets against his fevered skin were light blue, matching the thick carpet which was also blue, the whole rest of the room covered wall to wall in beautifully coordinated hues of one color; lavender, sky, sea, midnight.  
  
The soft, unobtrusive way the moonlight sighed across the floor seemed unbearable for Frodo to look at; it reminded him that he was living through another night in a peaceful, quiet, empty Hell.  
  
When he first set foot in the amazing land of the Havens, it looked to live up to it's title. Everywhere were the light colors of spring, the air smelled of life and peace and rest, the grass under him was wet with the dew of a seemingly eternal dawn.  
  
But even the Havens had its own personal night.  
  
As the days went on, the lands became less and less of a Haven and more and more of a burden. At nights he dreamed, terrible, dark, guilt ridden dreams that clutched at him mercilessly. And they always centered around Sam.  
  
IN his dreams Sam was covered in blood, and Frodo knew it was his own fault. Sam reached up a hand desperately but he did not return his. Sam cried out for help but he turned his back.  
  
Tonight he had had the worst dream of all. He saw Sam turn the knife inward upon himself, Frodo watching and knowing it was his fault, and could not sleep for the dreadful image inside his mind.  
  
In an attempt to calm himself he tried to call up images of his beloved from better days. Sam, kneeling on the soft earth, giving such tender care to his roses and daisies and carrots. Those few dark weeks after the War of the Ring, when he had midnight visions and nightmares of rings of fire and silent, invisible beings....Sam would hold him close and remind him he was home and safe...  
  
And he was right; Frodo *was* at home in his Sam's understanding, forgiving arms. He belonged there.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes and sighed. Sam was the only real haven from the world he had ever known.  
  
*****  
  
Frodo was not alone in his suffering; back in BagEnd insomnia also gripped Sam. No longer able to bring himseld to sleep next to Rosie, he lay silently on the narrow couch in the living area, staring morbidly at the wall.  
  
Rosie had found out about his cutting that morning, getting an accidental peek at the white bandages on his arm. She bothered him for hours to get some help, to tell someone, to see someone, to *talk* to her but he would have none of it and finally retreated to one of the bathrooms where he locked the door and swallowed just enough sleeping pills to put him out for a day or so.  
  
He didn't dream....  
  
When he woke up on the cold tiled floor, his head was still heavy and groggy, it was 11 PM and Rosie had went to bed. Looking in he saw that her face was still puffy from crying. He had decided (if not entirely of his own accord) to sleep on the couch tonight...  
  
Looking away from the wall, Sam glanced longingly toward the open door of the bathroom and the bottle of sleeping pills.. Familiar feelings of shame welled up inside him but he kept his eyes glued, sinful thoughts fluttering though his head aimlessly.  
  
Rose was ashamed of him, he knew it. How could anyone possibly not be, him being so horrible and unworthy of even the slightest affectionate glance or touch.  
  
He had no desire to cut...surprisingly. When he usually made it to this highly coveted level of pain his arm would take over again and he would bleed it out of himself. But this time...at this point he was beyond pain and had passed into the elation of the damned who have finally found the way out of Hell. Now to just go through with it....  
  
He got up from the couch.  
  
There was a certain peace in knowing he would soon rest, the weights on his chest and heart would soon be lifted and the slippery wetness of his brain that kept him from finding a mental foothold would evaporate.  
  
He went into the bathroom.  
  
His very thoughts themselves would evaporate into a place where nothing could harm them.  
  
He opened the medicine cabinet.  
  
He would be free. Not from the world, but form the one person and the truth he could not face; he was alone. In mind, body and essence, he was utterly alone. As he reached for the pills a cold hand rested on his shoulder blade. Bonelessly he fell to the floor, a gray mist fogging his vision before blackness conquered him.  
  
  
He was briefly aware of spontaneous time of Awakeness where Black would be chased away by the slightly lighter state of Gray. He had the feeling he was floating, like someone was rocking him back and forth slowly, and relaxed. He *did* notice a surface underneath him, which in reality was hard wood planks. Above him he occasionally spotted stars, piercing through the Gray with all the splendor and joy of heaven and filling him with a peace so he thought he might already be dead.  
  
When his head finally cleared enough for his eyes to stand the dawn without protesting, the first sight that filled them paralleled the sun so closely that his heart contracted with the beauty of it.  
  
"Sam...." Frodo said gently." Your awake..."   
  
******  
  
What else could he say? What else was he worthy of saying?   
  
Sam had been sleeping in his bed since his arrival, cared for the infamous Gandalf himself, recovering from the Sleep that must befall all mortals who cross over to the Havens. Every night Frodo would climb silently in bed beside him and gather the unresponsive body close. When he first say the still angry red scars on Sam's right arm, grief almost overcame him as he realized his nightmares had been true.   
  
In those days and nights when Sam lay sleeping, Frodo's pride died, replaced with such horrible guilt and terrible love that his own tears started to frighten him, as well as their source.  
  
Finally, this blessed morning, (conveniently right before he would have gone quite mad,) dark, chocolate brown eyes opened for him, looked his way, and *focused* on him.   
  
*****  
Sam raised a shaking hand slowly, afraid that this vision would cease to exist if he acknowledged it too deeply. If he jinxed it.  
  
"F-F-" Why wouldn't his throat work correctly? Every muscle in his body was painfully stiff, as if he had lain in the same position for ages. Frodo caught his hand and gently laid it back down against his chest and kept his won warm hands atop Sam's.  
  
"Don't try to talk, this is normal. You're just sleepy in the bones still, and you'll be back to your old self in no time, I promise."  
  
If Sam could have laughed at that statement, he would have.  
  
*****  
  
Seeing Sam laying there, with a horribly lost and shattered look in his eyes broke his heart. Sam's lips were trembling, from the effort to talk or whatever else, and he looked as if he were going to cry. Again.  
  
"Oh Sammy..." He leaned down and covered the soft skin with his own to calm both of them. But Sam continued to tremble till Frodo cautiously licked his lips...  
  
"F-Frodo..." he croaked out pitifully, "Frodo my dear...if you're real....do that again."  
  
****  
  
Fist the vision of the Sun and now the touch. The touch of warmth....that was not nearly satisfying enough for him. Frustrated and scared that he was still dreaming, he begged to feel that warmth again and soon enough (however hesitant) it came again. The inside of his mouth was scorched inch by inch by the very heat of the Sun and the familiar love and tenderness his body and soul had missed so long. Everywhere the Sun touched, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his hips, (did the Sun seem a little needy in its touches?) his stiff body came back to life. The Sun took his head in its hands and caressed its fingers down his neck so he involuntarily made a sound that was between a moan of pleasure and a scream of pain.  
  
****  
  
Frodo fell back, startled at the strange sound Sam made.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"  
  
Sam shook his head feverishly, his eyes closing again as he sighed,   
  
"Do that again. Touch me, let me know your real."  
  
A soft, reverent kiss was placed on Sam's cheek as Frodo whispered,   
  
"I'm here."  
  
Tears mingled and sluiced down the white pillows, grief and relief mixed into a stream of bitter water that tasted like the past, but oh the present was so much sweeter....  
  
Clothes were shed as gasps and moans became one sound. Skin to skin, fingers tangled and tongues dueled till Frodo and Sam could no longer tell the difference..  
  
"I'm sorry..." Frodo breathed and Sam shushed him.  
  
"Don't Frodo. Don't." Frodo hid his head in Sam's shoulder, fighting back tears, and Sam stroked his head. "Outside that window, the suns coming up, my dear...." He said this just for the sake of saying it, for the sake of noticing the world blooming around them, like spring after winter....   
  
The branch of a small tree could be seen stretching across the length of the open window, a green bud opening at the tip. 


End file.
